


to see without my eyes (the first time that you kissed me)

by far2late



Series: see thine soul [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Arguing, Blind Character, Blind Tim Drake, Blind!Tim, Bonding, Career Ending Injuries, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Dinner, Fighting, Hurt/Comfort, Phone Calls, Tim Drake Needs a Break, Tim Drake is Red Robin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24400675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/far2late/pseuds/far2late
Summary: "When he awoke, it was to a cloth wrapped around his eyes and darkness. When he took off the blindfold, he was greeted with the same darkness. He listened in a state of numbness as his reluctant surgeon told him that he would never see again, that the damage was so severe. Any other person would have accepted that as a defeat of some sort and react with anger, fear, or grief. Maybe all three at once.Tim’s never really been like any other person, though."ortim does not lose his spleen, but something else
Relationships: Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Everyone, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Series: see thine soul [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790479
Comments: 31
Kudos: 338





	to see without my eyes (the first time that you kissed me)

Tim Drake is fifteen years old when he loses his eyesight on a suicide mission to find Bruce Wayne. 

It’s not as surprising as he would have thought before, he had thought aimlessly. There were risks to the career he had taken up, that was a given. Broken bones and bloodied wounds were practically routine by this point, and the weeks they had to recover seemed longer as a result every time.

This, however, was not something that he had calculated for, not in the slightest. 

It wasn’t exactly a pretty sight, either. Nothing like cloudy eyes that watched off into the distance and over people’s shoulders. No, his eyes had been clawed at with a jagged knife and torn to near-shreds before Tim remembered blacking out. 

When he awoke, it was to a cloth wrapped around his eyes and darkness. When he took off the blindfold, he was greeted with the same darkness. He listened in a state of numbness as his reluctant surgeon told him that he would never see again, that the damage was so severe. Any other person would have accepted that as a defeat of some sort and react with anger, fear, or grief. Maybe all three at once. 

Tim’s never really been like any other person, though. 

Of course, he hasn’t, he’s  _ Tim.  _ He discovered Batman’s and Robin’s identities at the age of nine. He’d been trained as a Robin at thirteen, he led a team of heroes, he trained under Shiva.  _ He’d found proof that Batman was still alive.  _

  
So instead, he listens, and he  _ plans.  _

His recuperation is riddled with hindrances, mostly due to speed. His nimble hands trip over things he can’t see as he makes adjustments to devices to the best of his abilities. His fingers hesitate over keyboards and he backspaces much more than he had to before. His ears have never felt more metaphorically open before, and every noise from behind him makes him tense up in wait for an attack that doesn’t come. 

Tim leaves the clothe tied over his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was worse for others to see what had happened to him or the aftermath, but after facing his three reluctant companions, he figures that forcing them to see the mangled state of his eyes is hardly something that would help them in their task. 

In the meantime, Tim copes. He stops hesitating, and in his left ear he has a comm that works as an auditory description of the visuals around him. The text he needs to read off of case files are transferred off papers and typed up to be read back to him with an electronic voice. Files with print are replaced with braille where there can only be paper copies of some information. Tim doesn’t hold this against the League. Once things come onto the internet, in any way, there’s little chance of it being completely protected. 

Tim copes, Tim loses two new friends and the other loses a larynx. Tim fights and stumbles and copes and improves his devices and senses constantly until he can see without his eyes. He deals with Kon finding out about his new condition, and after arguing and many plans and more arguing, Tim brings Bruce  _ home.  _

He doesn’t tell the family what’s happened to him. 

The blindfold he wears is replaced with a domino mask and a cowl pulled over it snugly. There’s no need for the white film between his eyes and the real world to be lightened, so it’s completely solid as a result. No one can see the mangled remains of his eyes beneath the solid white. 

Tim never really goes back to the Manor officially. He’s there sometimes, for mission reports where he has to sit in due to them ghosting into his area of the city. Red Hood- Jason- is there in some cases, when Crime Alley gets pulled into the mix, but not that often. Only out of necessity. Tim realizes he’s becoming the same way and he doesn’t mind it. Not after  _ Robin _ . 

Damian, Dick, and Bruce treat him the same they did beforehand. They have no reason not to, after all. Sometimes there’s a niggling feeling that fills the bottom of Tim’s stomach that hisses at him, tells him that they should acknowledge what he had to do to get Bruce back and that all he’s given is lectures and tasks and nothing but criticism. 

Tim loathes that voice. Mostly because deep down, he agrees. 

He vaguely hears a body land softly behind him, paired with a small beep in his left ear to confirm as much. The rooftop he’s standing on is in a darker part of the city he protects, and there are little lights to fill the darkness that fills the nights there. Tim had this in mind when he sanctioned off this part as his own, responsible for the lives there. He didn’t think anyone would notice why, and he was right. 

The body shuffles over to him, attempting to walk soundlessly. The attempt was nearly successful, save for the quiet crunch of gravel under his feet. Tim knew it wasn’t Batman nor Nightwing, as a result. There’s little chance that Robin would meet him on his own, despite the independent personality he’s formed under Talia and Bruce’s wings. Tim tilted his head slightly before a half-smile crosses his face, the figure stopping three feet from him abruptly. 

“Nice to see you, Hood,” Tim greeted conversationally. “Nice night, isn’t it? Great for sight-seeing.”

The huff from the figure behind him confirms his suspicions as he turned around, already imagining the man himself standing tall in front of him, guns in his holsters and helmet gleaming ominously under the smog of Gotham’s very own moon. 

“For Gotham, maybe. Don’t think they got shit like this in Metropolis.” Jason replied easily, voice rumbling and deep. Tim’s been noticing many things about everyday sounds he hasn’t really before, and voices are one of his favourites. He never really noticed the faintest hint of grit behind his voice when he’d been stressed before, or the held back laugh in his words that only comes when he’s working with a Bat that he knows he could easily piss off to the best of his abilities. 

Dick’s voice had always been a contrast to Bruce’s, but Tim noticed the familial tone he held in his voice when addressing Damian and Jason outside of missions. He can’t remember if he’d heard it towards himself before the debacle with Bruce being lost in time, but he certainly doesn’t now. It’s bittersweet in the worst way, really. 

Bruce’s is strange in the sense that there’s little difference between Bruce Wayne’s and Batman’s. It’s a little frightening and leads Tim to question if even Bruce himself knows where Bruce starts and Batman ends. A few things make more sense after that, if not horrifyingly so. 

Damian and he don’t speak nearly enough for him to notice differences between before and after his accident, but there’s definitely a guarded note overshadowed only by the slightest hint of desperation, or want, for… something. Tim knows he won’t find out what that something is anytime soon. So is the woes of having an assassin for a relative. 

(Tim doesn’t know how to address the others anymore. Family? Brothers? Friends? All of them seem much too personal, not something that he had earned over his years of being a vigilante. He settles for relatives. It’s safe, impersonal, but quenches his desperation to be wanted, needed, part of a family.) 

“They’d only be missing out, then,” Tim hummed, tilting his head slightly as he heard Jason move a bit. “What’d you need, then? Another rogue at the border? Mission from Batman we have to take care of?” 

“Not quite. Not unless you’d consider family dinner a mission.” Tim froze at the word, though not quite noticeably at first glance. He regained his composure after a moment of panic, clearing his throat quietly. 

“Can’t. Busy.” 

Busy with making sure his secret didn’t come out, maybe. His hand automatically tightens around the bo staff he carried, a nervous tick he’s never been able to continue. 

(Tim thought it was funny sometimes. On good days, at least. Joking to himself that he had his own weaponized seeing stick. On bad days, its a catalyst of what-ifs, and wondering if fate had his accident mapped out for him to happen, despite what he himself wanted. Those nights, Red Robin is not nearly as forgiving.)

“Bab’s checked everyone’s schedules out. Tomorrow’s only night that no one’s got anything going and Alf’s making pie. Can’t miss out even if ya wanted to,” Jason replied. Tim heard a shift of clothing and can imagine that Jason’s got his arms crossed over his chest. An intimidation tactic, even if only subconsciously. It’s a little funny to Tim. Can’t be intimidated by something that he can’t see. 

The situation is slowly catching up to him in the span of seconds, and he realized that there’s little way he’s going to get out of this without a lot of fight from the others. Barbara was a force to be reckoned with, and he knew that if he tried to skip out now, he’d only be assaulted by her electronic attacks for a long time afterwards. It’s not worth the trouble. 

“Sure,” He says finally. “I’ll come. What time?” 

“Eight, Bird-brain. Don’t be late.” The gravel under Jason’s feet shifts, and after a moment, it’s like he was never there. Tim stares out where he was standing a moment ago, thinking. 

Birdbrain’s a new one.

… 

The rest of his night is spent hunched over a computer, phone sitting only a couple of feet away on a table. Somehow, it’s never felt farther. 

Over hours of research and fruitless plan-making, the urge to call Kon only grows with each passing click of his keyboard. His stubbornness wants to keep him from telling his friend about the problem simply out of hatred for pity, but it’s starting to look like he won’t have a choice in this case. 

  
  


It’s not that he doesn’t trust Kon. Suggesting that would seem stupid coming from anyone, Kon was probably one of the only people that he would ever trust. He was the only one besides Ra’s and a select choice of his cult that knew of his condition. Kon never went out of his way to infantilize him, either. It pissed him off more than the pity ever would, and the two are one of his reasons for not wanting to tell the Bats. 

They have a tendency to overdramatize things, really. Coming from a family consisting fairly largely of a circus performer, am asshole with a big mouth, a small asshole with a big mouth, and a man who dresses in all black to fight crime, his fears are not unreasonable. His line of logic is something that he prides himself in, after all. 

When the sun just barely peeks up over the horizon, Tim’s made his reluctant choice. With a sigh, he reaches over for his phone, hands patting around the table aimlessly until he picks up the device, fingerprint opening his phone. After a quick voice-command, his phone is dialling Kon, and Tim can’t tell if he’s hoping it’ll pick up or not. 

As soon as it picks up, Tim doesn’t let Kon get a word out before he speaks. He doesn’t want to bother with pleasantries when something this big is about to spill over and he had little control over it. He organizes his thoughts and speaks calmly into the speakerphone. 

“I’ve been invited to a family dinner I can’t get out of and they’re going to find out I’m blind and I really can’t let that happen at  _ all,  _ ever, not while I’m alive and even not then, so I’m really hoping you’ll have an idea because, again, a family of smart detective vigilantes that I have to spend an evening with that I don’t want to notice my eyes have been half-torn out of my skull.”

His voice is not nearly as calm as it was in his head. Tim cursed himself quietly. 

“ _ That _ ,” Comes Kon’s answering voice, “ _ Is a lot. Give me a minute. _ ” 

If anything, Tim is patient, so he makes himself a cup of coffee with his phone in one hand and listens to a quiet din of Kon waking himself up before he returns to the phone. 

“ _ So, where were we? Family of detectives at dinner?”  _ Kon asks. 

“Around the part where they can’t find out I’m blind and strap me down in Arkham so I can’t go out as Red Robin.” Tim might be exaggerating, but the fear of the Asylum is still well-structured in his mind. He already knew that Dick wasn’t above sending one of their own there, and nightmares of the Joker still haunt him when he thinks they’ve gone. It’s unnerving. 

“ _ Well, _ ” Kon starts, “ _ A good place to start would be to not show up, but I’m guessing that’s out of the equation? _ ” After a hum of confirmation, Kon continued. “ _ Thought as much. Y’know, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for them to find out. I know with Arkham and all it’s pretty fucking terrifying but what’re they gonna do? You’ve been fine for the past year, and they haven’t noticed at all. If anything, they should feel bad for not noticing after that long. _ ”

Belatedly, Tim knows Kon is making a good point. This fact terrifies him. 

“I can’t… I can’t face them. If I tell them, or- Well, I was going to tell them. On my own terms, though. I wanted my terms for this one thing. And I can’t really figure out how to fix this? Or hide it. ‘Cause wearing a mask or glasses is more suspicious than not showing up. And I just- I dunno.” Tim’s voice lowers embarrassingly so, and his voice is slightly weak as he speaks. “I wanted this to be my thing this time. Like. I have control over it.” 

“ _ I’m sorry, Tim. I really am. I wish I could help, but I can’t, and I wish I could.”  _ Kon’s voice is achingly sympathetic over the phone, and all Tim really wants is his best friend next to him. He’s not over the boy’s death, as much as he wishes he was. He knows Kon is still there, but some days, he wakes up with a gap in his memory and sorrow sitting on his chest before calling Kon to hear confirmation he’s alive. It’s not something he could ever forget. 

“S’okay,” Tim answers, and he’s ashamed his voice shakes as he answers. “I can… I’ll tell them. Tonight. I have to suck it up, I guess.” 

“ _ It’ll go fine, dude. You’re one of the coolest people I know, they couldn’t make you feel bad about it if they tried. _ ” Tim scoffs at the words, lightness seeping back into his tone. 

“One of the coolest? I’ve met our friends, Kon, I can say confidently I  _ am  _ the coolest.” Kon laughs on the other side of the line, and just the sound lifts him from the depths of his despair. 

“ _ Such an ego for someone who nearly got pancaked by a truck. _ ” 

“That was  _ not  _ my fault! You and me  _ both know that- _ ”

…

The rest of the day is spent in his apartment as he frets over small things that he never really worried about. His hands smooth over his clothes several times, and he wonders four separate times if it’s not too casual for a dinner with the family he’s been in infrequent contact with for the past year or so. 

His nails would have been bitten raw if they weren’t covered in black nail polish he applied due to stress. There are little cool spots on the tops of his fingers where the polish dripped off his nails and onto the skin, but he can’t focus in trying to rub it off with a Q-tip, instead deciding that pacing the length of his apartment twenty-three times was more important. 

Twenty-four now, Tim thought as his bo staff bumped into the wall in front of him once more. 

At the sound of a small alarm, Tim almost jumps out of his skin, and the fear that had been pushed to the front of his mind immediately drips over his body and leaves dread pooling in his stomach. The alarm was one of the horsemen of his mini-apocalypse, and his hands are sweaty as he makes his way downstairs through the back door of his apartment nearly no one used. The faulty lights were one of the only reasons, which was rather convenient for Tim. 

His blindfold is snug over his eyes, and it’s something of a safety blanket as he takes a seat in his car, hands typing the address for the Manor into the GPS before he sits back, buckling in as he lets the car drive itself. His hands are on the steering wheel, though it’s only out of obligation, should anyone peep into his tinted windows. 

The hood of his sweater is pulled over his head and hangs over his eyes by the time he reaches the Manor, and he sits in his seat for a moment as he takes shuddering breaths before stepping out and straightening up. His bo staff, in its collapsed state, is tucked in the overlarge pockets of his hoodie, and Tim has a firm grip on it as he walks into the home. His key still fits and muscle memory leads him to the dining room, creeping his way past the kitchen in hopes of avoiding Alfred. 

He’s oddly successful in his attempts, which is confusing until he hears a quiet hum of chatter from the dining room, and fear drops into his stomach. He can’t do this, he really can’t. Tim turns to leave only to bump into someone, or something, and startles slightly. 

“Timmy!” The someone in front of him says cheerfully, and of  _ course,  _ it’s Dick and he’s too close and Tim swerves around him as he mutters about needing to leave before Dick tugs him back to him. “Woah, where’re you going?” 

“I really need to go, Dick.” Tim’s head remains stubbornly tilted to the ground, shifting so his hood covers his eyes better. He can practically hear the frown in the man’s voice as he begins arguing. 

“You just got here. C’mon, everyone else is here. I just came from the bathroom.” Despite his attempts to quietly struggle away from Dick, Tim can make out that the conversation from the room a couple of feet down the hall has halted. There was no backing out now, and with a small breath, Tim nodded slowly and let Dick walk in front of him and followed after. He lets the hood on his sweater drop down and the blindfold feels less like a safety blanket as he pauses just before the doorway. He can hear the conversation start up again, and he takes another deep breath before coming into the eyeshot of the others. 

The conversation halts, and so does the quiet clink of silver against china. 

Tim gulps back the fear settling in him and walks into the near-silent room, hearing shifting of clothing as he lets muscle memory take him to his usual seat in the dining room. He takes a seat and sits back, fingers tapping against each other nervously in his lap before he speaks up quietly.    
  


“What’s on the menu?” 

And the room bursts into chaos, as it would. 

Tim flinches at the sound before drawing himself to sit up. He waits for the chatter to die down before Damian shoots a question at him. 

“Why the blindfold, Drake? A dare of some sort?” His voice is dripping of contempt, and Tim answers matter-of-factly as a result, discarding his softer answers to the questions he anticipated. 

“Blinded, actually.” A pause. 

“ _ What? _ ” It’s Jason’s voice this time, and he sounds angry, almost. “You were  _ fine,  _ yesterday, how did you get blinded in a day? It’s temporary, right?” 

“I was blind yesterday, too. And I wish.” That’s the first hint of bitterness that’s leaked into his voice for a while. Maybe it was an effect of being nearby the other Bats. 

“What- How long have you even-? It’s  _ permanent?  _ Tim, what? How’ve we- Why didn’t you  _ tell us _ ?” Dick’s voice is pleading, confused. And a little angry. 

“Last year. And yes, unfortunately. We weren’t on the best terms a year ago, and after I came back, it never really came up. I steered clear of you, and you did for me. It seemed unnecessary to tell you.” 

“ _ Last YEAR?! _ ” The chorused words are screeching against his ears. 

“You’ve been out on the field without eyesight the past year?” Bruce finally speaks up, and Tim already has a sinking feeling of dread in his stomach. No one had said a word against him as he started, and he knew they weren’t going to stop him as he did. It wasn’t the best feeling. “Do you have any idea how  _ dangerous  _ that is, how irresponsible this was? You could’ve messed up in the field and caused deaths, gotten-” 

“No,” Tim interrupts, voice cold as he does so. He refuses to hear a lecture on how he fucked up or what a liability he was. “You do  _ not  _ get to lecture me about how this affects my performance as Red Robin when you haven’t noticed for an entire year and have had no complaints about how I act. You do not get to  _ tell me how irresponsible I am and what a liability I am  _ when you’ve been passing cases onto me without noticing. I never wanted  _ any  _ of you know and I would’ve died without you finding out if it was up to me, so don’t you  _ dare  _ act like you care now.” 

Tim stands up from the table as he scoffs, chair pushing back noisily. “Loved dinner. Should do this again, really.” 

  
He stalks away from the table and past Alfred’s voice and stumbles over the carpet and walks out the door. He doesn’t hear anyone follow, and the dread in his stomach lightens. 

He’ll call Kon when he gets home. He doesn’t have anything planned for the night. 

**Author's Note:**

> well this was pretty impulsive and i don't have much to say, but feel free to comment and tell me what to think. and comment if i should make a follow up of some sorts! thanks for reading <3


End file.
